Arthur's Fables
by silentwolf111
Summary: ...Because, let's face it, that old tosser Aesop got it all wrong. Here's what REALLY happened. Featuring The Briton and the Frog, Maplestiltskin, and more!
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** Hello, everyone! Long time no see! This is just a silly little idea that's been in my head for quite a while now, and I recently had a bit of free time, so I figured I may as well put my thoughts to paper (or, in this case, keyboard), right? Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, no matter how much I wish I did.

Peace out,

~silentwolf111

* * *

.oOo.

 _~ Prologue ~_

.oOo.

* * *

Once upon a time, twice upon a time, however many bloody times upon a time you want – there lived a boy.

All right, so he wasn't exactly a _boy_. Well, he was very much _male_ and not at all female despite some of the teasing misconceptions of his peers – for the last and final time, just because one partakes in perfectly acceptable hobbies such as embroidery, that does _not_ automatically make one's gender feminine – but the boy was different in that he was not _human_ , so to say. He was a young nation, rather, who represented England of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland; but he didn't mind being called "Arthur" as well.

Just so long as he wasn't called "Artie", "Iggy", "Artie-Farty", "English Muffin", or anything and everything that had to do with "brows". Rest assured, any tosser who dared call him any of the aforementioned names would promptly receive a sound thrashing.

But that's beside the point. Now, unlike the other rambunctious nation-people, Arthur was a gentleman who was considered to be rather wise and level-headed; always with his nose in a book, he was very clever and observant, with a love for stories and a way with words that can only be considered poetic. The nation absolutely loved fairytales and folktales of all types, as he'd grown up with stories of the sort and had developed a true passion for them over time.

Because he experienced so much stupidity in his everyday life from the other nations that made him want to smack his head into a brick wall, Arthur wanted to find a way to release his frustration at the stupidity that surrounded him that did not involve throttling or maiming (no matter how much he would have loved to do so, such behavior was surely considered ungentlemanly and would have been frowned upon). So he chose to do with his experiences what he did with everything else in life: express them through the form of words.

That boy-nation is me. And, inspired by my own love for storytelling, I have decided to write a little book of fables inspired by things I have seen and learnt from the other nations around me. Especially the ones that tend to fall more on the "stupid" side of the line.

And, good God, there are a _lot_ of them.

See, you might want to sit down for this, dear reader, for the sheer _idiocy_ of some of the characters in this storybook can be too much to handle sometimes. Take it from me.

Well, I suppose, apart from the fact that I am in need of a fairly non-violent way to distract myself from the cluelessness of the bumbling gits that surround me, the very _idiocy_ that these twats possess is part of the reason why I'm writing this book, anyway; hopefully the lessons you learn from these fables will be enough to put some hope back into the world.

So, my dear reader, I present to you my little collection of stories that is _Arthur's Fables._

Now, let's not waste any more time, shall we?

 _Once upon a time, there lived a young, foolish lad named the United States of America, who proposed a silly challenge to the great nation of England._


	2. The Tortoise and the Brit

1.

* * *

.oOo.

 _~ The Tortoise and the Brit ~_

.oOo.

* * *

Once upon a time, there lived a young, foolish lad named the United States of America, who proposed a silly challenge to the great nation of England.

It had started out innocently enough; the older nation had begrudgingly agreed to run laps with the younger, and the two had been jogging around an outdoor track on a bright, sunny day when America suddenly came to a stop. Noticing his jogging partner was suddenly a great distance behind him, England stopped as well.

"Is something wrong?" he politely inquired.

"Not with me," America replied. "But are you okay?"

"Of course I am," England said, puzzled. "Why do you ask?"

"Dude," America said in that dreadful slang of his, smirking playfully as he raised an eyebrow. " _Look_ at you. It's been, like, two minutes, and you're already sweating up a freaking storm. Want to rest or something?"

Now, England was most definitely sure that a couple droplets of sweat beading up on his forehead did not equate to "sweating up a freaking storm". Furthermore, the reason for said droplets of sweat was merely that it was a rather hot and sunny day, and America had insisted on running outside (which England had complied with, as he was less than willing to put up with the temper tantrum that would result if he hadn't). Therefore, _no,_ he did not want to rest, and wasted no time letting the younger twat know so.

So the two started running again, and after a few minutes, England's pace started to lessen.

Again, this was _perfectly_ natural. Because it was _hot_. And _sunny._ Neither of which being especially suitable conditions for an intense workout, pray tell.

Alas, however, America did notice the other nation start to fall behind. He could have ignored it and carried on running, but, of course, the typical git saw a source of entertainment in the situation.

"Bro, come on," he laughed annoyingly. "You're so slow! Face it, Grandpa, you're getting old."

"Oh, piss off," England told the blasted twit. "I'm neither slow nor old."

"Are too!"

"I am _not_ , you wanker!"

"Seriously, Burger Brows," America said, crossing his arms. "You've got to stop lying to yourself. You are _super_ old, and I'll bet you're even slower than a stupid tortoise."

"Slower than a tortoise?" England muttered, rolling his eyes. "I'll admit, America, I always think you can't possibly get more stupid, but you do keep proving me wrong."

"Oh, please," America said. "I'd like to see you race one. For the record, my money's on the tortoise."

England was a rather peaceful nation, yes, but let it be said that he was certainly not one to let annoying young tossers challenge his great power whenever they saw fit; he had already made that mistake once, and clearly _that_ had gone over quite well.

Which was why, without any hesitation at all, he narrowed his emerald eyes and held the other nation in an intense gaze.

"Is that a challenge?" he dared coolly.

The American merely laughed before returning a competitive smirk of his own.

"Yeah, old man. Guess it is."

As England had the misfortune of knowing, America took challenges seriously. A bit _too_ seriously, as a matter of fact, which was how, exactly half an hour later, England found himself standing on the track alongside a tortoise that America had somehow stolen from the local zoo (no matter how much the stupid git claimed they were just "borrowing" it).

How America had managed to do it? England didn't know.

Quite frankly, he didn't _want_ to know.

Anyway.

At first, the race commenced just as England presumed it would. America fired a blank from a gun that had been in his pocket the entire time (again, for reasons England didn't want to know), and England immediately set off into a sprint while the tortoise refused to budge.

He was about halfway to the finish line when he heard a second boom, soon accompanied by a sudden burst of movement that he could only interpret as a flash of green soaring past him with incredible speed.

The tortoise was… flying?

England could only stand and watch in a daze as the tortoise landed on the ground, well over the finish line, somehow impossibly winning the race.

As it turned out, _no_ , the tortoise hadn't flown. A quick look behind him showed England that the tortoise had, in fact, been picked up and _launched_ through the air by a particular American, whose whoops and cheers of excitement were almost as big as the cannon that stood beside him.

Yes, dear reader, your eyes did not deceive you.

Cannon. _CANNON._

Where the bloody hell did that git manage to get a _cannon_ from? And just how in the name of the Queen had the godforsaken prat managed to hide it from England?

Well, no matter, for however England – or _any_ person, nation, creature, or bloody inanimate object with the slightest ounce of _sanity_ – looked at it, the competition was clearly unfairly won.

Unfortunately, America was not one of those aforementioned beings of sanity, so it was to England's great dismay that nearly every other nation had heard the news of England's "loss" by the very next day.

Even though he didn't lose.

Because the stupid American wanker CHEATED and the race DIDN'T COUNT and that was FINAL.

THE END.


	3. The Briton and the Frog

2.

* * *

.oOo.

 _~ The Briton and the Frog ~_

.oOo.

* * *

Once upon a time, there was an Englishman named Arthur.

One Saturday morning, Arthur found himself sitting outside on the balcony of his 15th-floor flat, reading the daily paper and drinking his favourite Earl Grey tea. It was an absolutely perfect day; the fact that it was a weekend meant that he didn't have to work, a rare glimpse of the sun peeking out from behind the clouds made for a quite appreciable difference from the usual overcast skies – and he did love his tea and paper, if he did say so himself. All in all, Arthur could say he was in a decently good mood and having a rather blissful morning.

That was, until he suddenly heard a loud croak and looked up from his paper to see a frog that had somehow managed to climb fifteen floors up and was currently perched on the railing of the balcony.

"Hello there, old chap," Arthur said out loud to the frog, smiling slightly whilst taking a sip of his tea. "I don't suppose your day is going well?"

He certainly hadn't expected a response.

"Well, _mon cher_ , my day is not so _très bien,_ but _merci beaucoup_ for asking!"

Arthur immediately sputtered and spit out his tea, widening his eyes and blinking a few times before shaking his head.

"Oh, splendid," he said. "A talking frog. And just what the hell do you want, prat?"

He could have sworn the frog appeared to grin and bat its eyelashes ( _eyelashes?_ Do frogs even _have_ eyelashes?) before saying, "Not much, _cher Angleterre…_ However, I do think that perhaps a quick kiss would be _très magnifique_ to lighten up both of our days, no?"

Arthur regarded this for a second, tilting his head to the side and analysing the creature in front of him.

"A kiss?" he asked.

" _Oui!"_ the frog replied. "Just one! But, of course, I wouldn't complain if you want more…"

A moment of silence passed.

"You wouldn't happen to be… _French_ , would you?" Arthur asked hesitantly.

The frog smiled.

"Indeed I am!"

"Well, in that case," Arthur said, standing up as the frog looked at him expectantly.

Arthur looked it right in the eyes.

"No way in bloody _hell."_

And then he proceeded to use his newspaper to knock the French frog right off the balcony, smiling in content as he watched the disgusting thing fall to its death below.

The End.


	4. The Boy Who Cried Nation

3.

* * *

.oOo.

 _~ The Boy Who Cried Nation ~_

.oOo.

* * *

Once upon a time, there lived a dreadful little boy named Sealand.

First of all, his name was dreadful enough in itself; how on Earth could something possibly be sea and land at the same time? I suppose it makes sense if one's territory had beaches or something of the sort, but this boy's territory – if you could even _call_ it that – was nothing more than a rusted metallic oil platform supported by two lumps of concrete, the whole thing suspended over waters that were _much_ too close to England.

It was a quite pitiable sight, really. Except no pity whatsoever was felt for the twat. He didn't deserve it.

Why, you might ask? Well, because first impressions are wrong. He may look like a typical young lad, all pleasantly bright and jolly – and his eyebrows do look rather good, I must say – but that was very much not the case. Underneath the innocent-looking facade that his childlike nature seems to prompt all others to believe as reality, the boy was simply too bloody _annoying._

I suppose this tale is similar enough to the story of that one lad who cried out about a wolf, but at least a wolf is a believable and rational subject to call attention to, unlike Sealand's ridiculous monstrosity. Somehow, whenever he looked at that combination of rusty metal and concrete, his eyes saw a fully-grown nation whose power surpassed that of England himself.

Another difference between Sealand and the boy from the other story was that, at first, the other boy was joking about seeing a wolf. Sealand, however, was never joking about his claims, no matter how much England wished he was.

But, alas. Wanker really thought he was a country.

At first, none of the real nations believed him, for all the right reasons.

So, what did the dismayed lad decide to do? Kindly and respectfully address his elders and use sound reasoning to argue his case, perhaps?

Why, nothing of the sort, of course; instead, he put his best effort forward by continuing to throw fits and sneaking into important world meetings he was clearly not invited to. He strived to irritate England as much as possible, which initially did absolutely nothing, as the perfectly calm and collected older nation had learned over the years to tune out any background lunacy for the sake of his own sanity. Eventually, however, it was learned that Sealand had supposedly sought out a certain American nation for advice on independence – which the sodding twat had happily given to him – and so it was that England returned to his humble abode one day to find that all of his tea had been removed from the premises and unceremoniously launched off of the metal clump of an oil platform.

Allow me to say that it was all England could do to not dangle the wretched boy off of his precious platform and release him into the water along with the beloved tea. The same goes for the American wanker.

See, the issue was that Sealand's logic was entirely backwards; in order to gain validation, he felt it absolutely necessary to infuriate every being he came into contact with beyond measure. It made absolutely no sense, and neither did his utter surprise when he realised that, still, nobody believed that he was a true nation.

At last, when the temper tantrums escalated to unspeakable extremes (as if the prior scenarios were not bad enough already) and the blasted child was one step away from being strangled lest he himself strangle one of the nations, Sealand thought himself to finally be accepted as a real nation.

But that was not the case, since the Sea Twat was clearly not a nation and would never be, and he was just too moronic to realise it.

The End.


	5. Maplestiltskin

4.

* * *

.oOo.

 _~ Maplestiltskin ~_

.oOo.

* * *

Once upon a time, there lived a man named Francis. He lived a miserable life, as he was dirt-poor, owned a shabby cottage in an old, run-down village, and had the great misfortune of looking after a wretched boy named Alfred.

One day, Francis decided that he wanted to meet with the king, named Arthur, so that he could recognise the king's greatness and beg for mercy for his pitiless self.

However, in order to make himself seem more important to the king (which he should have known would be bloody _impossible_ , as the git was nothing more than a sodding _twat_ ), Francis told the king a little lie: that his son, Alfred, possessed the ability to spin straw into gold.

King Arthur, known for being one of the only people in the kingdom to possess some ounce of common sense, did not believe Francis at first, of course. And so he demanded that Alfred be sent to the palace the next day, when the king would test his skills.

The next day, when Alfred was brought to him, King Arthur put the boy in a room full of straw and a spinning wheel, and told him that if he hadn't spun the straw into gold by the next morning, he must die.

Arthur then locked the door to the room, leaving Alfred alone inside. Alas, the lad had no idea what to do, as he had never spun straw into gold before. Fearing for his life, Alfred began to cry.

Suddenly, the door opened, and in strolled a man who bore a quite striking resemblance to Alfred.

Alfred was taken by surprise as he took in the new-comer's appearance.

"Hey, I know who you are," he said. "You're–...you're… I can't seem to remember your name…"

The new-comer appeared bored, as if he'd grown accustomed to this.

"That's not important," he said, waving it off with a hand. "Now, why were you crying?"

"I have to spin all this straw into gold, because my no-good Frenchy _frog_ of a father said to the king that I could do so despite the fact that I _can't_ , and now, if I don't, I will die!"

The new-comer paused for a second, in thought.

"Perhaps I could do it for you," he said to Alfred. "But for a price. What do you have to offer?"

"Well," Alfred felt around in his pockets for anything that could be of use. "I have this small vial of maple syrup, if you want it…"

"Yes! I'll take it!" the new-comer immediately snatched the vial out of Alfred's hand, the overly-eager look on his face almost scaring the lad. "Leave the spinning to me."

And so the man magically spun the straw into gold and left as soon as the deed was done, and when morning came, the king was aghast.

Surely Alfred didn't know how to work powers of dark magic… As far as he knew, Arthur was the only one who possessed _that_ particular ability.

So then, how…?

Not yet fully believing that something strange wasn't happening, Arthur decided to keep Alfred three more days to prove his skills.

He moved Alfred into a new room, this one filled with three times as much straw as the last, and once more told him that he must spin all the straw into gold in three days' time or he must die.

Just like the night before, soon after Alfred was locked inside the room, the door opened, and the new-comer strolled in.

"You have to help me out again," Alfred begged of the man. "Please, can you spin all this straw into gold for me?"

"Well, as I said before, there must be a price," the other said. "What do you have to offer?"

Alfred dug through his pockets again, only, this time, they appeared to be empty.

"I don't have anything to offer you right now," Alfred said. "But, if you do this, I promise I'll grab you a burger afterward!"

Grimacing at the mention of the disgusting food, the other man shook his head.

"I'm afraid that won't work," he said. "But I'll make you a deal. I'll spin this straw into gold for you if you can guess my name in three days' time."

"Oh, that's easy," Alfred said in relief. "I already know your name! It's… Um, it's..."

The other man's expression grew dull again.

"Well, I know it starts with a C…" Alfred said. "Or with a K… right?"

"Like I said," the man crossed his arms. "I'll give you three days' time."

The man walked back out the door, leaving Alfred alone once more.

So Alfred thought the whole night of all the names he had ever heard, feeling as if the man's name was on the tip of his tongue.

When the man returned the next day, Alfred said all the names he'd thought of, one after the other, but to every one the man shook his head.

"Ca...mouflage? Kan...sas? Copacabana? Canabanana–"

" _No!"_

On the second day, Alfred had thought long and hard, and he was sure he'd figured out the man's name.

"It's Canadia, isn't it?" he said when the man appeared in his room. "Admit it! I got it right, didn't I?"

"No," the man responded once again.

"What do you mean, 'no'?" Alfred demanded. "I know your name is Canadia! _You_ know your name is Canadia!"

"My name isn't Canadia," the man said. "But don't worry; you still have one more day. Surely you'll be able to think of it by then."

On the third day, the man returned, and asked of Alfred,

"Now then. This is your final chance. What is my name?"

This time, Alfred appeared ready.

"I've got it," he said, eyes bright with glee. "This time, I'm sure of it. I know your name!"

"Well," the other said. "What is it, then?"

"Your name is…"

Alfred paused, for dramatic effect.

" _America."_

Silence rang throughout the room for a brief moment, before it was interrupted with the man's cries of frustration.

" _No!"_ he said. "No, no, _no!"_

Alfred was taken aback.

"Wait, what–"

"My name is _Canada_ , you oaf! Ca-na-da! Get it? Six letters, three syllables! It is not that _hard!"_

In utter frustration, Canada stormed out of the room and slammed the door, leaving Alfred behind in a room that was still filled with un-spun straw.

And so, when the king found that the straw hadn't been spun into gold, Alfred was swiftly put to death.

All because he couldn't remember the name of poor old… Can… C-Cana… Whatever the lad was called.

The End.


	6. The Prussian and the Pea

5.

* * *

.oOo.

 _~ The Prussian and the Pea ~_

.oOo.

* * *

Once upon a time, there lived a princess named Elizaveta.

Now, although the common belief about princesses is that they are fair, pristine, and ladylike, Elizaveta was… well, Elizaveta was _different._

As in, _stubbornly-defensive-black-belt-in-karate-frying-pan-wielding_ different.

Because of this demeanor, it was inevitable that the princess had somewhat of a hard time finding a proper suitor. Despite the constant urging of her parents and the efforts to set her up with princes far and wide, nothing seemed to work; the girl just didn't fancy anyone. Elizaveta was certain she'd seen over a hundred different young men from all walks of the world, and she had turned down every single one.

"Too serious," she had said of the stoic and athletically-built German prince.

"Too disgustingly perverted," she'd said of the one from France.

(But, then again, he was _French._ Really, what bloody _else_ can you expect from those no-good tossers?)

"Too… _weird,"_ she'd raised an eyebrow at the Austrian prince, who, in her opinion, had a severely unhealthy attachment to his musical instrument.

For all she cared, he'd be better off marrying the _piano_ than her.

Nevertheless, you get the idea; it was clear that Elizaveta had no interest whatsoever in all of the princes who had come to court her. Each meeting with another possible suitor ended the exact same way:

She would eventually decide she'd had enough of the lad, and then proceed to hit him with her frying pan as she chased him out of her room.

One day, it was called to her attention that yet _another_ new suitor had arrived in an attempt to court her. Of course, the princess thought nothing of this, knowing in the back of her mind that this meeting was going to go just the same as all the others.

She was polishing her frying pan (a princess must keep up her appearances, after all) when the young lad was let into the room.

One look at him told her he was different from all the rest; while all of Elizaveta's previous suitors had at least maintained a fairly normal appearance, this one had albino-looking skin, shockingly silvery-white hair, and bright red eyes that gleamed with a look she couldn't quite decipher.

And, as for manners: it didn't look like the man even _had_ any. After all, he'd burst into the room without a care in the world, strolling in as if he'd owned the place and plunking himself down in a chair across from her as he crossed one leg over the other and stretched out his arms.

Elizaveta raised an eyebrow, sizing the man up as she twirled her frying pan in her hand.

"And… you are?" she inquired.

"The _awesome_ Prince Gilbert Beilschmidt from the _awesome_ land of Prussia, and I've been looking for an _awesome_ girl to call my wife," the lad remarked with a proud grin, eyes flicking to the frying pan for a brief second before his gaze returned to the princess. "Oi, what's with the metal pan-thing, Princess?"

"None of your concern," the princess stately remarked. "Wait, er – Gilbo, was it? – where did you say you were from again?"

"My name is _Gilbert_ , you un-awesome chick, not _Gilbo!_ And I'm from Prussia!" the man eagerly nodded. "Perhaps you've heard of it? Oh, wait, how could you _not?_ After all, it is too _awesome_ for its awesomeness to not be recognised!"

"...Is that even a country?" Elizaveta asked.

The lad's expression changed instantly.

"What do you mean, 'is that even a country'?" he stood up passionately, placing a hand to his chest in feigned insult. "Of course it is! I should know, I _am_ the prince of it, after all!"

At this point, her suitors were usually long gone, but, for whatever reason, this one was still here _._ She didn't exactly know why, but there was just something about this prince that seemed… _intriguing._

Well, she supposed she could have kicked him out considering his over-usage of the word "awesome" – good _grief,_ that was bloody annoying – but the princess was nothing if she wasn't just, and she decided to give the prat one more chance nonetheless.

"I don't believe you," Elizaveta said, deciding to push the prince in an effort to test the lad's value. "You know, for a prince, you don't seem very honest."

"What?" Gilbert's eyebrows flew up in defence. "Oh, come on, Princess! The Awesome Me is the most honest person in the entire _world._ Seriously, ask me anything! Go!"

"Well, actually," Elizaveta said, formulating a plan in her head. "I have something else in mind. But, you know, it's getting rather late, and I don't know about you, but I'm bloody _knackered._ I suppose the best thing to do would be to discuss it tomorrow."

She rose from her seat, frying pan still in hand, and looked the prince in the eyes, sending him the smallest smile.

"For the time being, would you be interested in staying the night?" she asked.

The man grinned at her.

"Sure! I _knew_ you wouldn't be able to resist the charm of the Awesome Me."

Elizaveta rolled her eyes as she tried to ignore Gilbert's comment, instead choosing to take him by the hand and leading him out of her room.

"Come with me," she said to the man. "I'll show you where you'll be sleeping for the night."

The princess led the prince down a series of long, winding halls, until at last they came upon a single door at the end of a corridor. Elizaveta pushed open the door, revealing a perfectly normal little guest room with a very tall ceiling.

...Well, at least it _would_ have been perfectly normal had it not been for the giant bed pushed neatly into the corner.

Gilbert's eyes widened once he'd caught sight of it, his mouth slightly gaped open. He turned his head upward – he had to in order to look at the thing in its entirety – as he took in the fact that there appeared to be a good twenty mattresses stacked one on top of the other.

The prince turned to the princess, an odd look on his face.

"What?" Elizaveta said innocently. "We like to treat our guests with splendour."

Apparently this answer seemed to be enough for the prince, as he grinned in response.

"And why would you not?" he questioned. "After all, the Awesome Me deserves only the best treatment!"

And, as Gilbert turned his back to her, continuing to observe his new sleeping quarters, Elizaveta decided it was time to put her plan into action. She reached into the pocket of her dress, pulled out a single pea – don't ask where she got it from; princesses have their ways, you know – and quickly slipped it under the bottom mattress.

"Right," she said to the prince once the pea had been put into place. "Good night, Gilbo."

Elizaveta walked out of the room and closed the door behind her, promptly ignoring the loud "It's _Gilbert!_ " that immediately emanated from within. She smiled as she made her way to her own quarters, content with the knowledge that the deed had been done.

However, what the princess didn't expect was that Gilbert had caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, and he had seen Elizaveta slip the pea underneath the mattresses.

The prince smirked. He'd heard this story before, and he knew that the princess was trying to test if he were honestly a real prince by seeing whether or not he'd feel the pea under the mattress. All he'd have to do when morning came was claim that, yes, he very much _had_ felt something poking him in the back – and then the princess would be _his!_

The night came and went, and before he knew it Gilbert was being called down for breakfast the next morning.

"So," Elizaveta asked when she saw the prince stroll through the door. "Sleep well last night?"

Gilbert's expression immediately turned sour, as he did his best to put on an irritable appearance.

"Actually, _no_ , I didn't sleep well at all," he said to her, deliberately sounding as miserable as possible. "No matter which way I turned, there was always something poking me in the back! It hurt the entire night! It was so _un-awesome_."

"Oh?" the princess asked. "Is that so?"

"Yeah!" Gilbert replied. "You sure there wasn't anything under my mattress? Nothing… small and round, maybe? And, oh, I don't know, the size of a pea?"

Elizaveta stood up then in surprise, regarding the prince with an unreadable expression.

"Oh, sweet merciful heavens," she said, "I-I can't believe it. As a matter of fact, there _was_ a pea under your mattresses. How did you know?"

"I told you, woman," the prince said. "I felt it! It was poking me in the back all night long!"

The princess only stared at him in awe.

Gilbert inwardly smirked then, as he knew victory was his. He'd won her over! The princess was going to be his! Oh, he could just see it now: life inside the castle was going to be so lovely, and he'd get to do whatever he'd want to do, and he'd have servants to bring him beer all of the time, and, and – it was just going to be so _smashing!_

Really, it's too bad his sweet reverie was interrupted when his face suddenly collided with something hard and metal, causing him to fall to the floor.

Rubbing his cheek in shock, he looked up to see the princess holding her severely-dented frying pan (seriously, how many times had she _used_ the thing?) and wearing an extremely terrifying glare on her face.

Despite the fact that her intimidation made him shudder, the prince couldn't deny one thing: he was _severely_ ticked off.

" _Oi!"_ the little bugger snapped at Elizaveta, looking past the fierce glare. "What was _that_ for?"

" _That_ was for lying, you insufferable prick," the princess snapped right back. "You're no honest prince! I _know_ you saw the pea under your mattresses, you dolt, and I know you didn't actually feel anything poking you in the back, because it's _bloody well impossible_ to feel a _single_ bloody pea under _twenty_ bloody mattresses; after all, the little tosser of a vegetable would get crushed under so much weight, and it's not even that _big_ of a thing to make the slightest dent or impression in a mattress! Blast all, it doesn't even make any sense! I mean, for the love of the Queen, how the _hell_ can someone feel a single _pea_ through twenty mattresses? They bloody well _can't_ , that's how! And any little git who dares claim that they are "fair" or whatever other rubbish they spew out of their putrid mouths can go and piss off, since everyone knows that that's damn near _impossible!"_

And then the princess chased the prince out of the room as she happily continued her life in solitude.

The End.


	7. Little Red Riding Scarf

6.

* * *

.oOo.

 _~ Little Red Riding Scarf ~_

.oOo.

* * *

Once upon a time, in the land we know now as Soviet Russia, there lived a man. They called him "Little Red Riding Scarf", or simply "Little Red" for short. The "red" part was because he was… well, _Russian_ , but the "little" I suppose was a joke, because the man was indeed very tall and very intimidating.

If anything, he made _you_ feel little.

He always wore a long scarf, for reasons unknown. Not that it mattered, anyway; those who knew him understood that they probably didn't want to know why he was never seen without it.

One day, Little Red's grandmother had run out of vodka, and, well, you know how Russians are with their vodka. The gits depend on the stuff, really. And so Little Red was tasked with the deed of bringing her some fresh, new bottles.

In order to do so, he had to trek through the deep, dark woods, but that was no matter. The vodka was worth it, after all.

Grabbing a small basket to make carrying the vodka slightly easier, Little Red set off into the woods. He walked calmly – too calmly, actually, and the smile on his face was borderline eerie – but what he hadn't realised was that he had attracted the attention of a creature nearby. This creature was a rather large wolf, which was currently hiding behind a bush and watching Little Red's every move.

The wolf decided that Little Red would make quite a nice lunch, and planned to approach the man under a polite guise. He expected the man to partake in a casual conversation with him, in which the lad would gain the wolf's trust, and all suspicion would be avoided.

What the wolf certainly did not expect was his plan coming to a screeching halt just as soon as it had been put into play.

Somehow, the man must have known precisely what the wolf's intentions were, for Little Red put his hand up, palm facing outward, immediately upon seeing the wolf.

The wolf stopped dead.

"No, comrade," Little Red said. "Remember, we are in Soviet Russia."

The wolf was confused at this quite obvious statement, and his confusion soon started to morph into discomfort, then fear, upon seeing the wide smile on the Russian man's face and feeling an unexplainable dark aura emanating from the man.

"In Soviet Russia, big bad wolf doesn't eat you," Little Red said innocently. "No. You see, in Soviet Russia, you eat big bad wolf."

And so, before the wolf could blink, Little Red had gobbled him up, all the while completely unperturbed by his own actions. He admitted that the wolf hadn't had the most pleasant aftertaste, and decided that what he really needed to wash it all down was some vodka. Perhaps his grandmother would share some with him when he arrived.

The creepy git did eventually arrive at his grandmother's, having faced no other problems at all for the rest of his journey, because everything else in the woods, both living and nonliving, was bloody terrified of his unsettling presence and stayed clearly out of his path.

The End.


	8. Snow White-Flag and the Seven Courses

7.

* * *

.oOo.

 _~ Snow White-Flag and the Seven Courses ~_

.oOo.

* * *

Once upon a time, there was a mighty kingdom that was built in the land known today as Germany. This kingdom took the utmost pride in its military, and so any weakness in the people of the land was generally prohibited. The citizens were trained intensively, yes, but sometimes there were chinks in the armour, so to speak; it was for this reason that the king made sure to perform regular check-ups on the strength of the civilians, in order to weed out the weak and thus ensure the kingdom was at its strongest.

One day, while performing one of these routine check-ups, the king gazed upon his enchanted mirror.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall," he said, "who in this land has the faintest heart of all?"

At these words, the reflection in the mirror began to swirl until the image depicted a boy with blue clothing and caramel hair (the king squinted harder, unable to tell whether the strange curl that seemed to protrude from the side of the boy's head was indeed real or an effect of the image's distortion). The lad was sat on the ground in the middle of the woods, crafting something with some twigs and white fabric.

" _Flag as white as snow, tears as blue as rain,_

 _Snow White-Flag is the one whose heart is most faint,"_ the mirror responded.

Upon hearing this, the king summoned his best knight, a young man named Ludwig, and promptly instructed him to find and get rid of this Snow White-Flag.

"Yes, sir," Ludwig responded, before setting out into the woods in search of Snow White-Flag.

When Ludwig found the boy, he took out his hunting knife and was about to silently approach Snow White-Flag when the lad suddenly turned around, having detected the glint of the blade out of the corner of his eye.

Before Ludwig could react, Snow White-Flag had let out a piercing shriek and had proceeded to wave a large white flag frantically while sobbing, blubbering incoherently as he repeatedly begged for mercy.

Though Ludwig had known the boy had the faintest heart in the land, this level of weakness certainly took him by surprise. Furthermore, the lad's loud wails were now raising concern, as it was quite possible that passers-by would hear them and investigate the source of the noise. Observing their surroundings, Ludwig took notice of a small cottage that appeared to be uninhabited, and he decided that he would coax the boy into the cottage for the time being while he decided just what to do with him.

"Silence," Ludwig commanded Snow White-Flag, while putting his hunting knife away. "I won't kill you, okay? Now, come into this cottage with me so that we can talk."

Snow White-Flag's cries subsided as the lad let out a sniffle.

"Do you promise you won't kill me?" he said.

"I promise," Ludwig replied, making sure the boy couldn't see the two fingers crossed behind his back. "Come on now. I haven't got all day."

The two entered the cottage. While Snow White-Flag immediately began to explore the cottage's small kitchen, Ludwig took a seat and began to debate whether he should attempt to kill the boy after all or take pity on him and let him escape. These thoughts, however, were interrupted when a sudden cry of delight sounded from the kitchen.

"Look," Snow White-Flag said happily, having opened the door to the cottage's fridge. "This has all of the ingredients I need to make a proper seven-course Italian meal!"

"Seven-course Italian meal?" Ludwig inquired, raising an eyebrow. "This is hardly the time for-"

"Yes!" Snow White-Flag said. "Wine, bread, pasta, pizza, second pasta, second pizza, and dessert! Seven courses, see?"

Before Ludwig could object, the lad began pulling numerous ingredients out of the fridge and brought out multiple pots and pans for cooking, all the while humming happily to himself. Ludwig sighed, giving into the boy's whims. He supposed he was starting to feel a bit hungry, after all.

After the meal had been prepared, Ludwig took one bite and was admittedly shocked, as this food was far superior to the food the royal cook at the time had been producing. This, of course, was also partly because the royal cook was _French_ , and virtually anything was better than the poison the Frenchman produced, but that was no matter. Ludwig also admitted that Snow White-Flag's food, though delicious, still couldn't compare to a hearty British meal, but that was no matter either.

In the end, Ludwig decided not to kill the boy after all, but instead brought him to the royal palace to serve as the new royal cook. After all, Ludwig had been wanting to get rid of the Frenchman for quite some time as everybody around him loathed the slimy little git, and this served as a perfect opportunity to do so.

And they lived happily ever after, now that the Frenchman had been removed from the premises once and for all.

The End.


	9. Sleeping Beauty

8.

* * *

.oOo.

 _~ Sleeping Beauty ~_

.oOo.

* * *

Once upon a time, there was a king and a queen who lived in the nation of Greece. Now, this was quite a long time ago, so long ago that knowledge of fairies and the like was extremely commonplace and not limited solely to England (who, quite frankly, was the only nation whose knowledge and wisdom had not dulled down over the centuries).

The king and queen were unhappy because they had no children of their own, but after praying to the gods, the queen finally gave birth to a little baby boy. They were filled with joy, and thus decided that they would prepare a lavish feast to celebrate the birth of the young prince. Among those invited to the feast were the powerful fairies of the kingdom. However, though there were thirteen fairies in all, the king and queen only had twelve golden plates for the fairies to eat from, and so one of the fairies had to be excluded from the feast. Knowing that one of the older fairies was particularly cruel and mean-spirited, the king and queen decided that they would not extend an invitation to her.

At the grand event, each of the twelve fairies presented the prince with their respective gifts, blessing the child with traits such as kindness, musical ability, and the beauty of a Grecian god (which, mind you, was their exact wording, and not at all an opinion of my own). Suddenly, the fairies were horribly interrupted when the old, cruel thirteenth fairy stormed in, furious that she had not been invited to the celebration. In her anger, she laid a curse on the young prince, declaring that the child would prick his finger on a spindle and die.

However, to the child's luck, this event occurred before the twelfth fairy had presented her gift, and so she decided to do all she could to save the lad. In order to combat the curse of the evil fairy, she declared that the prince would not die upon pricking his finger but instead fall into a long sleep, only to be woken by true love's kiss.

Eventually, the day came when the prince happened upon an old lady who was busy at work with her spinning, and he reached out in curiosity, only to prick his finger on the spindle as soon as he had touched it. He immediately fell into a deep sleep, and the king and queen moved him into one of the palace's bedrooms as soon as they heard the news, placing him upon the room's plush bed.

As it turned out, the curse of sleep hadn't really been much of a curse at all, for sleeping was already one of the young prince's favourite pastimes; he slept an unhealthy amount, quite frankly, so much so that the king and queen were not fazed in the slightest by the prince's current state of constant unconsciousness. They were still determined to break the prince out of his slumber, however, as _some_ activity is still better than none at all – and so they arranged for numerous fair persons of the kingdom to visit the prince and lay a soft kiss upon him, in the hopes that one would prove to be his true love.

To their misfortune, day after day passed with no such luck; the prince had been visited by many a maiden (with a fair share of lads mixed in as well, just in case), and he had not yet awoken.

One day, a cat managed to make its way into the castle, and it decided to wander into the room where the prince slept. It leapt onto the bed and, upon seeing the young lad resting there, started to lick his cheek.

The prince awoke at once, and the whole bloody kingdom rejoiced.

The End.


	10. Gilbert and Ludwig

**Author's Note:** Hello, dear readers! The reason for this little author's note is that this chapter is going to be a bit different from these previous chapters; for this very special installment of _Arthur's Fables,_ we're going to have a guest storyteller! That's right, today's story is going to be told not by Iggy but by one of the other nations – _who_ exactly that would be, you may ask? Well, I assure you that you'll find out very soon. ;)

Thanks for reading, and hope you enjoy!

Peace out,

~silentwolf111

* * *

.oOo.

 _~ Gilbert and Ludwig ~_

.oOo.

* * *

Okay, how the heck do these things start off?

...Testing, testing, 1, 2, 3…?

Yeah, see, I'm not gonna use "Once upon a time", 'cause that's just way too cliché and princessy – and, besides, it totally sounds like something England would use, and nobody wants to sound like an old man, right?

You know what, I'll be honest here: I've never really told fairytales before. That's always been a thing I've left to England since he's the one who's into that kind of stuff. So cut me some slack, will ya?

Anyway, hi, howdy, how's it going, and all that jazz. I'm America! But you can totally call me The Hero, Mr. Awesomer-than-Prussia, Super Epic Man, Alfred F. Jones – or America. That's cool, too!

You might be wondering why _I'm_ here instead of old Iggy-pants. Well, dudes that are reading this, that's because I've got an _awesome_ story to tell you that I know Iggy would totally _not_ want me to tell, so I secretly went and hijacked his little book! And, not to sound like France, but I know you all like some good old juicy gossip, so I just _couldn't_ resist.

(Oh, and don't worry about me; if he finds out, I'll just blame Canada later.)

Anywho, I'm here to tell you the story of Gilbert and Ludwig! It's actually kind of a popular story; I've heard there's versions published of it that changed their names to "Hansel" and "Gretel", but that version's all wrong! Trust me, what I'm about to tell you is the _real deal._

Okay, gather 'round, children, 'cause this is gonna be a good one!

All right, so, there were these two kids named Gilbert and Ludwig (duh!) – oh, and just so you know, the older one was Gilbert, and the younger one was Ludwig. Anyway! They lived with their super poor family in this old beaten-down shack. And, because they were so poor, their family had a hard time finding enough food for everyone to eat.

One day, their mom came up with a genius idea to solve their food problem, so she went up to her husband and told him her plan.

She said, "Hey, dude! Guess what? I've come up with this totally sweet way for us to have more food!"

And her husband was just like, "Really? How?"

So the mom smiled and said, "Let's just get rid of the kids! That way, we'd only have two mouths to feed instead of four!"

Of course, the dad thought this idea was kind of crazy. He didn't want to get rid of his kids! He'd _raised_ them, and he _loved_ them.

So he said, "Are you sure we can do that?"

But the mom was totally convinced that her idea would work, so she was all like, "Come _on_ , bro, of course we can! Besides, what's more important? Kids, or _FOOD?"_

Yeah, the dad couldn't argue with that logic.

So then they agreed that, the next morning, they'd tell the kids that they were taking them for a walk in the forest, and then, when their backs were turned, they'd just leave them there!

But what they didn't know was that Gilbert and Ludwig had heard everything they just said, and they knew all about their parents' mean plan to get rid of them. So they came up with a plan of their own! After his parents went to bed, Gilbert snuck outside, grabbed a bunch of rocks, and stuffed them into his coat pocket. When his parents tried to lead them to the forest, he'd just keep dropping rocks on the ground as they went and make a trail for him and Ludwig to follow so they could get back home!

The next day, just like they thought, the mom and dad told Gilbert and Ludwig to get their coats, since they'd be going on a family walk together to the forest. But Gilbert and Ludwig knew that they weren't really going on a family walk; their parents were going to try to get rid of them! Hey, but at least their parents gave them some wurst... Apparently it was supposed to be their dinner since they weren't going to be back in time.

You know, now that I think about it, that's actually hilarious. The parents were just like, "Bye, kids! Hope to never see you again! Oh and by the way here's some wurst."

Ha. Must be a German thing.

Anyway, back to the story! As they all walked to the forest, Gilbert made sure to drop rocks on the ground every once in a while, just like they'd planned last night. And, sure enough, when their parents left them in the forest all alone, Gilbert and Ludwig were able to follow the trail of rocks until they were back home!

When their mom opened the door to find them standing there, she was totally surprised.

She was all like, "What the heck? What are you dudes doing here? I thought we'd finally gotten rid of you once and for all– uh, I _mean_ , welcome back, kids!"

So the parents acted like they were all excited that Gilbert and Ludwig came back, but, really, they were pretty mad. They wanted to get rid of them! They didn't want them to come back!

That night, after the kids went to bed, the parents decided that they were going to try it again the next morning. But, again, Gilbert and Ludwig heard their parents talking, and they got super scared.

Ludwig said, "Gilbert, I don't wanna get taken away!"

And Gilbert tried to calm him down by saying, "Don't worry, Luddy! The Awesome Me will just grab some awesome rocks like before and then we can come back home again! It'll be awesome!"

But, when Gilbert went to open the door to their room, he realized that his parents had locked it, so he couldn't go outside and get the rocks.

So, when they were taken to the forest again the next morning and their parents gave wurst to them, Gilbert decided to pick off little pieces of his wurst and drop them on the ground, making a trail just like he did last time with the rocks. That way, they'd still be able to find their way home.

But this time, when night came and they were left all alone again, they actually _couldn't_ find their way back home, because the birds had eaten all the wurst and destroyed the trail!

Then, since the kids didn't really know what to do, they sort of hitchhiked around for a while until they found something in the middle of the forest that made them stop and stare at it.

It was a house. Made of _food._

Of course they had to go closer to it and check it out! When they got closer, they noticed that the house looked a little… interesting. It had scones for roof shingles and crumpets for doorknobs and a tea moat. It had a freaking _tea moat._

Gilbert took one look at it and was like, "I'm gonna eat this shit."

But then Ludwig told him to stop, since the house looked familiar to him.

He was like, "Dude, we can't eat that. That's the witch's house!"

Gilbert looked at him funny. "Witch?"

"Yeah," Ludwig said. "Haven't you heard? This is the home of the Great and Powerful Iggy, and rumor has it that he's mean and grumpy and hallucinates things that don't exist, like unicorns and flying bunnies and all that freaking fairytale crap. Bro, the dude's _crazy._ Who knows what he'd do to us if we ate his house?"

But of course Gilbert didn't care, and so he started digging into the house.

All of a sudden, he stopped eating and had this weird look in his eyes. Then he suddenly started spitting out the food and throwing up all over the place.

Ludwig was super confused for a second, but then he remembered.

He was like, "Oh, right… and he's also supposed to be a really bad cook."

Gilbert finished throwing up and said, "Yeah? Well, no kidding! This food is too disgusting and un-awesome for the Awesome Me! I wouldn't eat this stuff even if I were starving, and I _am!_ Come on, Ludwig, let's go find something more awesome to eat than this trash."

But the kids didn't know where else to go; they were stuck in the middle of the forest, and there was no one around to help them!

Ludwig threw his head up to the sky, hoping that someone, _anyone_ , was listening, and called out, "Oh, if only there was someone here who could save us!"

And then, out of nowhere, someone came flying in with super speed and landed in front of the kids. It was the hero, and his name was Alfred– Oh, hey! That's my name! I swear, it's just a coincidence.

"Don't worry, kids," Alfred said with a handsome grin as he flashed his perfect teeth, "the hero is here to save the day! And I've got some burgers and fries that will help cure that hunger in a flash!"

And, true to his word, Alfred used his super amazing powers to flash up a huge pile of burgers and fries right before the kids' very eyes!

"Oh, hero," Gilbert said gratefully, staring up in awe at the amazing man in front of him. "You're awesome, and you awesomely saved our lives! How can we ever repay your awesomeness?"

The hero laughed and reached out to the boy, patting his head and saying, "Don't worry about it; saving you youngsters from having disgusting English food contaminating your innocent tastebuds is what I do! All in a day's work, kid!"

And then, after he saved the day, the hero flew off heroically and the two kids lived happily ever after now that they never had to deal with the horrors of English food ever again!

The End!

And, yeah. That's it, I guess.

Oh, and the moral of the story? To never ever eat Iggy's cooking _ever_ because it sucks so bad that your taste buds will totally explode and you'll die a slow, painful death! Yeah. That sounds about right.

But, don't worry; if you _do_ ever accidentally eat English food and don't want to die, all you have to do is have some delicious and nutritious American food to turn that frown upside down! (I just totally saved your life, by the way. You're welcome.)

Anywho, dudes, this has been fun and all, but I think I just heard the door open, which means Iggy's back. And I don't want him to find me here, so that means I gotta sneak out the window before it's too late.

Until next time, this is the Hero, signing off!


	11. The Man Who Could Cook

10.

* * *

.oOo.

 _~ The Man Who Could Cook ~_

.oOo.

* * *

Once upon a time, there was a man named Arthur who lived in England.

Despite the opinion of a certain American git with no taste, Arthur was wonderful at cooking and everybody absolutely _loved_ all the delicious delicacies he made because Arthur was perfectly good at cooking and anyone who thought otherwise could go and _piss off_.

THE END.


End file.
